


Keepers of the Sworn Oath

by JacobFlood



Series: Gylhain's Skyrim [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, Culture Shock, Daedra (Elder Scrolls), Friendship, Gen, Orc Culture, Orcs, Orsimer (Elder Scrolls), Prejudice, Responsibility, Strength, Winterhold (Elder Scrolls), heritage, strongholds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacobFlood/pseuds/JacobFlood
Summary: Vash gro-Nul, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, has been appointed agent of Malacath in Skyrim, tasked with improving the lot of the orcs. But what does an orc who's spent most of his years in pursuit of magical knowledge know about stronghold life, about what's best for them? Riddled with doubt, the obstacles and responsibilities pile on him, until he's sure it's only a matter of time before he makes a crucial mistake and draws the ire of the God of Curses.
Series: Gylhain's Skyrim [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/801246
Kudos: 2





	1. Histories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just all ignore that last note I made on the last chapter of Dawn of Jorrvaskr that said I was finished writing Skyrim fic, alright? Yes? Good.

Vash watched the spell form in his student’s hand. He leaned closer to observe its flickering form. It jumped and jittered in place, refracting the light from the Hall of the Elements, with additional sparks of red darting around within. The construction of the spell had been measured and calm, reflecting the way the student, Emelia, approached all her spellwork. In a pitched battle, perhaps, it would be too slow, but in the controlled conditions of the College, it was close to flawless.

He nodded, and Emelia cast the spell. She disappeared from in front of him, leaving only the telltale shimmer that marked a mage under the cover of an invisibility spell.

‘Very good,’ said Vash. He walked slowly around her, his eyes struggling to keep track of which exact piece of space she was occupying. Emelia had only joined the College a month prior, but already her craft was showing noticeable improvement. She was a youthful and fresh-faced Imperial, though something about her grey eyes gave Vash the very specific feeling that he ought to take a step away from her, but that if he did so he would trip over an unseen obstacle and end up falling on his behind. He had attempted to explain this feeling to Tolfdir, but the old mage had only frowned and asked if the Archmage was getting enough sleep.

It was then that Tolfdir himself came into the Hall, two female orcs trailing behind him. One was dressed in furs and a long black cloak with a hood, while the other, almost a head taller, wore leather armour and had an orcish longsword slung over her back.

‘Archmage, apologies for interrupting,’ said Tolfdir.

‘Not at all,’ said Vash, who had long given up on trying to get Tolfdir to address him simply by name. ‘I don’t think there are any more improvements I can make to Emelia’s technique.’

Tolfdir looked directly at the shimmer that was Emelia. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘Fine work, very fine. I wager even Drevis would be impressed.’

Emelia cancelled her spell and reappeared fully in the room. The two orc guests both flinched. A small smile came across Emelia’s face, and she inclined her head towards Tolfdir.

‘Thank you both,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’ll go have a word with Drevis, see if there’s anything I can teach him.’

‘Surely you mean the reverse,’ said Tolfdir.

‘Of course,’ said Emelia, still smiling. ‘A slip of tongue.’ She exited the Hall, her natural tread making almost no sound.

‘I believe you’ll have command of the College for a few days, Tolfdir,’ said Vash, smiling behind him at the two orcs. ‘I have some other business to attend to.’

‘The, um, orc business you told me of, Archmage?’ asked Tolfdir.

‘Indeed,’ said Vash. ‘Thank you, Tolfdir.’

Tolfdir, seemingly unsure of what else to add, smiled at everybody and left the hall. After he heard the exterior door close, Vash gave the newcomers a short bow.

‘You are the aid promised by Malacath, I assume?’ he asked.

‘Nice place,’ said the shorter orc, looked up at the great space of the Hall. ‘Shame you gotta slog through all those fuckin snowdrifts to get here.’

‘What Muzgu is trying to say is yes,’ said the other orc. ‘And I am Yanakh. We have been charged with assisting you, as agent of Malacath in this province, with improving the lot of Skyrim’s orcs.’

‘You don’t look like his type,’ said Muzgu, looking Vash up and down. ‘Usually goes for the big beefy idiots with axes.’

Vash held out his right hand and summoned a bound handaxe into it, its handle and blade made of glowing blue light.

‘Huh,’ said Muzgu. ‘Well, that’ll have to do.’

‘It is an axe,’ said Yanakh, restraining a smile at her companion.

Muzgu sighed. ‘Alright, how are we doing this? I can take orders, but only up to a point.’

‘I was hoping for more of a collaborative approach,’ said Vash. He cleared his throat. ‘I was honoured, of course, to be chosen by Malacath, but I feel somewhat out of my depth. Any assistance you can provide would be most welcome.’

‘We look forward to working with you,’ said Yanakh.

Muzgu rolled her eyes. ‘We came straight here,’ she said. ‘Been in Skyrim for all of a couple of days. Don’t even know where the strongholds are.’

‘Ah,’ said Vash, going through the pockets of his robes. He drew out a map of Skyrim on which he had marked the locations of the province’s four orc strongholds: Narzulbur, not far south-east from the city of Windhelm; Largashbur, in the south of the Rift; Dushnikh Yal, in the harsh wilds of the Reach; and Mor Khazgur, in the north-west of Skyrim, where the Reach gave way to Haafingar. ‘I thought we could do a sort of tour,’ he added, gesturing at the map. ‘Starting with Narzulbur and sort of working around.’

‘Get the lay of the land,’ said Yanakh, nodding and peering at the map.

‘Exactly,’ said Vash.

Together the three orcs headed out of the College, trod single file across the bridge—Yanakh keeping a tight grip on the railing—and went down into Winterhold proper. One of the improvements that Vash and Jarl Kraldar had managed to get off the ground was a stable with a carriage that could get people more easily to the other hold capitals. At this precise moment, however, the carriage and its driver was nowhere to be seen. So they headed south on foot, the snow not thick enough to slow their progress, though Muzgu still grumbled about the cold.

‘Malacath said the strongholds would know we were coming,’ said Vash, as they walked. ‘But nevertheless I sent letters ahead, explaining the situation.’

Muzgu scrunched up her face. ‘The stronghold orcs prefer dealing face-to-face.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ said Yanakh.

Vash receded into himself for a time and they walked in silence. He had still been in his teens when he left Orsinium, feeling constricted and out of place. Between then and discovering the College, he had wandered mostly alone, learning bits and pieces of magic here and there, hiring himself out as a bodyguard in High Rock when he needed gold for some more books. His interactions with other orcs in the past decade formed such a tiny percentage of all the people he had met and spoken with. And yet Malacath had chosen him. He couldn’t understand it.

‘I dunno how being Archmage works, but you seem young for it,’ said Muzgu.

Vash managed a smile. ‘The grey beard fools people,’ he said. ‘A side effect of the Ashpit.’

‘So you really met Malacath,’ said Yanakh.

‘She’s read your book,’ said Muzgu. ‘She was very excited to meet you.’ There was a pause. ‘I didn’t read it,’ she added.

‘We’ve only heard his voice,’ said Yanakh. ‘To actually travel his realm, it’s amazing.’

‘It’s not something I could recommend,’ said Vash.

In truth, he had almost died there in at least two different ways. He had plummeted through what seemed to be a void without end, choking on the ash that filled the air. It had been a few months prior, and the experience showed no sign of becoming any less vivid in his head. He saw it when he closed his eyes, felt the ash in his lungs and the fear of some invisible ground rushing up to reach him.

He had been in Helgen with Gylhain, the Dragonborn, part of a great force she had put together to fight back against the Thalmor’s attempt to open an Oblivion gate in the abandoned town. The gate, of course, could only be closed from the other side, so several of the defenders, Gylhain and Vash included, had stepped through into varied hells, scattered away from each other into different realms.

The gate was closed, but upon returning to twice-battered Helgen, none of Vash’s friends had wished to speak of what they had seen on the other side. Vash, on the other hand, had written a book, putting it together quickly in the weeks following the battle and sending it to the Imperial City for publication. He was surprised to meet someone from outside of the College who actually heard of his little account, _Through Fog and Ash_.

Returning to the present, Vash noticed that Yanakh’s mouth was opening and then closing again repeatedly, a frown set on her face. He asked her if there was a problem, but that only made her mouth shut and her eyes become fixed on her feet. Muzgu sighed.

‘Your name,’ she said.

‘It’s Vash,’ said Vash. ‘Did I not say that? I’m so sorry, I thought—’

‘Not that, your stronghold name,’ said Muzgu.

‘Vash gro-Nul,’ said Vash.

‘Nul,’ repeated Muzgu. ‘Of no stronghold. Why?’

Vash scratched at his beard. ‘I took it—so many years ago. I was young,’ he said. ‘I left Orsinium and wanted a way to live that wasn’t orcish. It was a mistake, but it’s stuck.’

‘You didn’t, um, sign that on the letters you sent to the strongholds, did you?’ asked Yanakh.

‘Yes,’ said Vash.

‘Oh, they’re not going to like that,’ said Muzgu.

Vash wanted to sink down beneath the snow and not come up again. It was so early and he had already made so many mistakes, seemed to have made them before he even knew he would be measured by them.

‘What about you two?’ he asked, to distract himself. ‘Where do you hail from?’

‘Muzgu gra-Lagtha,’ said Muzgu. ‘In High Rock. Nice enough, for a stronghold. My mother more or less ran the place. Left as soon as I could. Ran with some shitty little bandit clans here and there. With the Thieves Guild in Cyrodiil, briefly. Very briefly. Then Malacath found me.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘Or I found him. Depends who you ask.’

‘She is being modest,’ said Yanakh. ‘The warrior orcs of Lagtha are legendary in certain parts of High Rock, mostly because of her mother.’

‘She’s still alive, far as I know,’ said Muzgu. She sniffed with great disdain. ‘She goes in for honourable battles, facing your foes, that kind of thing. We don’t get on.’

‘She sounds amazing,’ said Yanakh.

‘She’s the most unbearable orc I’ve ever met. Your turn now.’

Yanakh coughed and then spoke. ‘Yanakh gra-Domas,’ she said.

‘That’s a Redguard name,’ said Vash, his head jerking up in surprise.

‘It is my stronghold,’ said Yanakh.

‘She means hers in the sense that she built the fuckin thing,’ said Muzgu. ‘Now who’s being modest.’

‘You founded a stronghold?’ asked Vash.

‘Not alone,’ said Yanakh. ‘My brother Gorka, and a Redguard bloodkin called Balthasar. It is a strong place, carved onto the coast.’

After a silence, Vash added, ‘But you left.’

Yanakh stared into the nothing of the middle distance, then shook herself and shifted her view to the great snowy peaks above them.

‘Balthasar and I,’ she said, ‘we—’

‘Holy shit!’ said Muzgu. ‘Is that a dragon up there?’

In seconds, Vash had hardened his skin, summoned a huge bound spear in one hand, and prepared a ward in the other. His eyes frantically searched the skies, but he could see no great flapping wings, nor hear that roar that had struck such fear into Skyrim. It took Vash a while to calm his heartbeat and dismiss his spells, and longer to realise he’d been manipulated into a distraction.

‘Very quick on the draw, aren’t you,’ said Muzgu.

‘The dragons are mostly dead,’ said Vash, leading them on down the road, the words coming out very quickly. ‘Sometimes there are reports of one near the Throat of the World, or far in the north-west, but otherwise, they seem to be gone.’

Yanakh smiled at Muzgu, then said, ‘Speaking of bloodkin, have you met many of that name in Skyrim?’

‘Only one,’ said Vash. ‘Gylhain, the Dragonborn.’

‘The humans do tend to leave any nasty orc bits out of their stories, don’t they,’ said Muzgu. ‘Do you know where at?’

‘Dushnikh Yal,’ said Vash. ‘It was before I knew her.’

‘She was with you at Helgen, when you went through to the Ashpit,’ said Muzgu.

‘Though she went somewhere else,’ said Vash. ‘I thought you didn’t read my book,’ he added, trying a smirk.

Muzgu ignored him and asked, ‘Do you know where she went?’

‘The Deadlands, I presume.’

‘I mean afterwards.’

Vash’s face set into a frown as he remembered how tired, both physically and mentally, the Dragonborn had been after the Battle of Helgen. ‘I don’t know and I don’t wish to,’ he said. ‘If anyone deserves some peace and quiet, it’s her.’

‘But no rest for us wicked souls,’ said Muzgu.

Vash nodded. ‘There is Malacath’s work to be done,’ he said, and if he put enough verve into his voice, he could almost convince himself that this was what he wanted.


	2. Narzulbur

The trio of orcs made much better time once they came south of the snowline—and also Muzgu grumbled less. Passing Windhelm by, they stopped briefly at Kynesgrove, where the others hung back as Vash spoke with the mage Dravynea. He brought a gift of a small bag of frost salts, which she always needed for her work in the wretched heat of Steamscorch Mine. They traded conversation about applying frost runes in non-aggressive circumstances, while Yanakh stared up at the trees and Muzgu glared at any of the locals who came too close.

‘That was a waste of time,’ muttered Muzgu, as they departed Kynesgrove, heading up a fainter path behind the settlement.

‘I’m still Archmage,’ said Vash, regretting how firm his voice was. ‘Part of that’s maintaining ties with mages outside the College.’

Muzgu was silent, and they walked on, past a circle of stones barely visible above the grass, covered with moss. An ancient burial mound, now sunk mostly beneath the earth, only visible due to its top having been ripped away as the dragon within was brought back to life by its god. Years ago, now. In a few more the spot would be lost again.

Soon they had climbed high enough to be above the snowline again. Muzgu wrapped her cloak tighter around her.

‘Old-Father’s balls,’ she said. ‘There’s gonna be a lot of this bullshit, huh?’

Vash gave a small smile. ‘Afraid so. You get used to it.’

It wasn’t long before the stronghold of Narzulbur came into sight. Approaching by the path forced them between two watchtowers, the first on their left outside the walls, and the second on their right inside the walls. Vash hailed the orc on the right tower, an older female dressed in furs. Yanakh was frowning up at the unoccupied tower outside the walls.

‘Why did they build that?’ she wondered, as they waited for the gate to be opened for them. ‘If you were up there when an attack came, you’d be cut off.’

The gate swung open to reveal two female orcs, the one from the tower, and another, wearing a simple brown and yellow dress.

‘The agent of Malacath,’ said the first. ‘We were told of your coming.’

‘I read it in the entrails,’ said the second. She smiled. ‘Please, enter. I am Bolar, and this my sister Yatul.’

Vash swept his hood back and formally greeted both, using their names as he did so, in an effort to commit them to memory. Once inside, he could see that Narzulbur was built on two levels. The lower level, on which they had entered, contained a shelter just in front of them for the skinning and other preparation of any meat brought back from the hunt. Further on was an alchemy lab, a vegetable patch, and a closed hut, all built up against the outer wall.

‘We didn’t know what to expect,’ said Bolar. ‘But we are of course grateful for Malacath’s help.’

‘Don’t need help,’ said Yatul. She turned and yelled the name ‘Urog’ up further into the stronghold. In a moment, a young female orc trotted down to join them, looking at the newcomers without great interest. ‘Take over on the watchtower,’ said Yatul. ‘We have to entertain the guests.’

Urog just nodded and trod up to the watchtower, while Bolar and Yatul shepherded their guests up a slight slope, towards the longhouse itself. Vash was at the door when he realised that Muzgu and Yanakh were no longer right behind him. He turned to see Yanakh scratching the ears of some goats kept in a small pen. Muzgu was looking around the stronghold with narrow eyes, her hands vanished beneath her cloak.

‘Our chief wishes to break bread with you,’ said Bolar. Vash tried to signal with his eyes that he wanted the others to come with him, that he would be lost without their superior knowledge of orc customs.

Instead, Muzgu said, ‘You’re the agent, you go.’ She made a vague gesture at their surroundings. ‘We’ll case the place.’

‘See if there’s anything we can do,’ said Yanakh, without looking up from the goats.

‘If you wish,’ said Bolar, and she and her sister ushered Vash inside the longhouse.

Vash’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light inside. The main room bore a fireplace directly in front of him. He focused first on the boots lined up to dry, then looked upwards to see a series of heads mounted above: a bear, a wolf, and a skeever. He wondered why anybody would be proud of having killed a skeever. Slightly to the right, close to the fire, was a small table with two chairs across from each other, and it was from here that the chief rose to meet them.

‘Chief Mauhulakh,’ he announced himself as. Vash, remembering his earlier discussion on the road, kept his own introduction just to his first name. ‘I see you’ve already met my aunts.’

Vash looked at the two women, trying not to betray his surprise. He had assumed that one or both of the women would have been the chief’s wives. And though the ages of orcs were often hard to gauge, he saw now that Bolar and Yatul were not young, though they busied themselves with domestic tasks, bringing plates and food, insisting that Vash and the chief sit. In the centre of the table was a tankard with a sprig of mountain flowers in it, and Vash fixated on it as the bustle continued around the table.

‘I’m not sure what to say to an agent of Malacath,’ said Mauhulakh.

Vash made himself smile, though there was some sweat forming on the back of his neck. Just from being so close to the fire, he told himself.

‘I don’t think there’s a protocol,’ he said. There was a pause, during which he wasn’t sure he’d been understood. ‘We’re on, um, uncharted ground,’ he added.

At the insistence of the aunts, he took some meat from the centre of the table. Mauhulakh took a hunk of bread and nibbled around its edges.

‘You won’t join me?’ Vash asked.

Mauhulakh looked at his aunts before replying. ‘I had my fill before,’ he said.

Vash frowned at his food. ‘Perhaps you could tell me a bit about the stronghold,’ he said.

Mauhulakh’s expressed brightened and he thumped his chest. ‘We are prosperous,’ he said. ‘Our mine produces much ebony, and the outlanders pay us piles of gold for it. Down in Windhelm they are jealous of us.’

‘We do not need Malacath’s aid,’ said Yatul. ‘We do not understand why you are here.’ Her and Bolar had moved to stand on either side of the chief.

‘What my sister means,’ added Bolar, ‘is that we don’t think there’s anything you can do for us.’

Mauhulakh tore his bread into little pieces, but said nothing. Vash cleared his throat. The other three orcs looked at him, and he thought he caught something approaching desperation in the chief’s eyes.

‘Forgive me,’ said Vash, ‘but do you have no wives?’

‘I am cursed,’ blurted Mauhulakh. Yatul laid a hand on his shoulder, and the chief was silent.

Bolar shook her head sadly. ‘I have read the entrails many times, but cannot fathom why our nephew’s wives continue to meet with tragedy,’ she said.

‘Tragedy?’ asked Vash, leaning forward.

‘Two died in childbirth,’ said Bolar. ‘The other two grew sick. I did all I could, but even my healing arts have limits.’ She shook her head again. ‘Perhaps it is not the will of Malacath that there be another.’

‘That is not the orcish way,’ said Vash.

‘You do not know what the orcish way is,’ said Yatul.

‘With respect,’ added Bolar, ‘you have spent much time away from our people. Can you say those words and truly know what they mean?’

Vash pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Perhaps they were right. Maybe someone in the stronghold would know a way to open a channel of communications with Malacath, so he could ask that the mantle be passed to someone else. Yanakh, Muzgu, anyone from any of the strongholds would be more qualified than him. He realised he was staring into space and not speaking.

‘I should see how my associates are getting on,’ he managed, and left the longhouse. Down the slope he saw Muzgu leaning against the exterior wall, near the vegetable patch. She hadn’t taken off her hood the entire time he’d been in her company. He approached her quickly, the words forming in his head about his request. But she spoke first, quietly, her eyes focussed somewhere else.

‘Pretty sure the aunts are killing all the chief’s wives,’ she said. She nodded in the direction of a hut Vash hadn’t noticed, up the slope to the left of the longhouse. ‘Full of alchemy stuff. Mostly poisons. The good stuff, too.’

A very specific feeling travelled down Vash’s spine. Nefarious plots at work. Sinister goings-on. Images flashed through his mind of the Thalmor and their attempt to control the Eye of Magnus. An attempt he had put an end to. He knew how to deal with this.

‘They control him,’ he said, looking back to the longhouse, whose door remained closed.

Muzgu snorted. ‘Course. Power behind the chief. A wife would give him an ally, decrease his reliance on ’em.’

‘There are children, though,’ said Vash.

Muzgu pointed at the younger orc on the watchtower, and then to the east, across a narrow bridge. In the latter direction Vash could see the wavering heat in the air and the clash of metal on metal that signalled the presence of a forge.

‘Urog and Dushnamub,’ said Muzgu. ‘He works the forge, and she does whatever the aunts tell her to do. No help out of her.’

‘How do we fix this?’ asked Vash. ‘The jarls don’t like interfering in stronghold matters, but if they’ve killed four people…’

‘They’re fools.’

‘The jarls or the aunts?’

‘Both,’ said Muzgu. ‘The aunts are gonna die before the chief does, and without them to back him up, he’ll lose this place to the first challenger that comes along. He needs other allies. He needs a wife. More than one, if we can find more than one orc stupid enough to want to come all the fucking way out here.’

‘There are three other strongholds,’ said Vash. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to find someone.’ He could see it now. It was like a puzzle. He just hadn’t understood what the pieces were, or how they fitted together. There was still so much he didn’t know, but far off in the distance he could glimpse the blurry shape of it all.

‘Hmm, maybe,’ said Muzgu. She gestured to the bridge, where they could see Yanakh striding across, coming to meet them. In a few brief sentences, they filled her in on what they had learned so far, and what their plans were.

‘I’ve been talking to Dushnamub, and the miners,’ said Yanakh, indicating over the bridge with her thumb. ‘He’d like to leave, but doesn’t want the stronghold to be without a smith.’

‘Would he challenge his father?’ asked Muzgu.

‘I don’t think so. The miners, though…’

‘How many?’ asked Vash.

‘Four,’ said Yanakh. ‘Bor and Mogdurz came here years ago. I think the aunts stuck them out in the mine so the chief wouldn’t make either of them wife number—whatever he’s up to. But the others, Gadba and Mul, they’re brothers. They came up from Largashbur to work in the mine. They’re a threat.’

‘I bet the aunts ain’t popular around here,’ said Muzgu. She spat into the dirt. ‘Alright, I gotta admit, this isn’t as shit as some strongholds I seen. Sometimes running them is more trouble than it’s worth. But this place, all that ebony? This is a prize.’

Yanakh nodded. ‘And it is well-positioned, up here on the hill,’ she said. ‘It would be very hard to attack it from outside.’

They all fell silent for a moment. Vash realised the other two were looking at him. He reached for words and found nothing.

‘You’re standing on a leek,’ said Yanakh.

Vash looked down and saw that his right boot was indeed firmly on top of the vegetable in question. He stepped to the side. The leek was crumpled and flat. He sighed.

‘I think I need some advice,’ he said. Yanakh and Muzgu looked at each other, then Muzgu coughed.

‘Like I said,’ she said. ‘Load the place up with wives. I’ll have a word with the aunts, let them know what’s what.’

‘He’s not worth it,’ said Yanakh. Vash looked at her with surprise, so she continued. ‘Mauhulakh is a weak chief. If that gets him removed, so be it. We shouldn’t interfere.’

‘We have literally been hired to interfere,’ said Muzgu.

‘I don’t think we should give up,’ said Vash, feeling an old stubbornness rising in him. He looked around the stronghold. The place was not to his tastes, but that didn’t mean it should be left to chaos and possible ruin. He held a map of Skyrim in his head and found that it helped. Lines of connection leading in many directions, crisscrossing the province.

‘Well, O wise agent of Malacath?’ asked Muzgu.

‘Winterhold needs a blacksmith,’ said Vash. ‘Kraldar and I, we’ve been looking for one.’

‘Starting your own little stronghold up there, are you?’

‘It solves both problems. Mauhulakh gets a wife, and Dushnamub gets to leave.’

‘If we can find him any wives,’ put in Yanakh.

‘We will,’ said Vash. He already had someone in mind: Ghorza, who ran the forge in Markarth. He’d approached her about coming to Winterhold, but she’d refused. Maybe she would reject the offer of coming to Narzulbur as well. But maybe she wouldn’t, and everything would fall into place. She was a strong orc, too, and wouldn’t stand for being ordered around by anybody’s aunts.

‘Would these miners be any better chiefs?’ Muzgu asked Yanakh. ‘Are they filled with chiefly qualities?’

Yanakh shrugged. ‘They have ambition,’ she said.

‘And there are two of them,’ added Vash. ‘What happens to the one who isn’t chief?’

‘Huh,’ said Yanakh. ‘Alright, what do we do about them then?’

Vash stared at the sky. It looked like it might start snowing soon. In that case, they should start heading south quickly, he thought. There was always trudging through snow while going in and out of Winterhold, he always preferred to avoid adding any more of that to the journey.

‘Induct them properly into the tribe,’ he said.

Yanakh’s eyebrows went up. ‘How does that help?’ she asked.

‘It gives them a stake,’ said Vash. ‘It becomes more in their interests to keep things running smoothly.’

‘Well, it makes sense when he says it,’ said Muzgu, throwing her hands up.

‘I don’t think that’s going to work,’ said Yanakh. She folded her arms. ‘But I won’t oppose you. You’ll tell the chief?’

Vash nodded, looking up towards the longhouse. ‘If you can distract the aunts.’

Muzgu cracked her knuckles. ‘Leave it to me. I gotta have a talk to them about not poisoning these fancy new wives the chief’s going to be drowning in.’

Vash left it to her. Muzgu took the aunts aside. Vash took Chief Mauhulakh aside and told him of the plans. The chief agreed to everything, most enthusiastically to the prosper of possibly having multiple wives at once. Afterwards, Vash accompanied Mauhulakh up towards the mine, as the chief went to convey the news to Gadba and Mul that they would be inducted into the tribe. Vash separated from him at the forge, delaying to talk to Dushnamub.

‘Multiple wives,’ said the chief’s son, shaking his head. ‘I just hope they don’t end up adding to our graveyard. He spends too much time there already.’ He paused in his speech while he hammered a particularly stubborn dent out of a breastplate. ‘I don’t know where I’ll go. Somewhere far from here.’

‘We’re trying to get a blacksmith’s store started in Winterhold,’ said Vash.

‘Winterhold,’ mused Dushnamub, moving his hammer back and forth between his hands. ‘Never been.’

‘Lots of people complain about the cold.’

Dushnamub laughed. ‘Not me,’ he said. He gestured at the view out over Eastmarch. ‘Wind here comes straight at me while I’m working. I can take it.’

‘We’d be glad to have you,’ said Vash.

Dushnamub looked at Vash for a few moments. ‘A store,’ he said.

‘It’d be yours. The forge, and the house, all the profits. It’s almost all in place, just waiting for someone.’

‘I don’t think I’m going to get a better offer than that,’ said Dushnamub. They grasped wrists, and Vash found himself grinning. ‘But I won’t leave until there’s someone here to work the forge,’ Dushnamub added.

‘Of course,’ said Vash. ‘I would have expected nothing less.’ In truth, that little detail had slipped his mind entirely. Still, the next town they passed through, he’d try and find a courier to send a message back to Jarl Kraldar to make sure everything was ready at the prospective forge in Winterhold.

They said their farewells for now, and Vash trod across the bridge back into the stronghold proper, meeting Muzgu and Yanakh waiting for him at the gate. They didn’t share his positive expression, but he barely noticed.

‘All sorted?’ he said. The two other orcs looked at each other. ‘I think that went quite well.’ He rubbed his hands together, slipped between them, and lead the way out of the stronghold and down the hill. ‘If they’re all this easy, we’ll be back home in no time.’


	3. Largashbur

Again they walked south, passing into the Rift, where the road sloped upwards and the air grew warm enough for Vash to slip his hood back and take his gloves off. That was the downside of travelling around Skyrim; there was simply no way to dress for all the climates that it contained. After spending most of his time in Winterhold, he almost dreaded that they’d have to, between the second and third strongholds, pass through the sometimes cloying heat of Falkreath.

‘What did you say to the aunts?’ asked Vash, as they passed between the watchtowers that lined the road up to Riften.

‘Reminded them of the reality of things,’ said Muzgu. ‘They’ve been living in their little world a long time.’

‘You also made several threats of violence,’ said Yanakh.

‘Yeah, that too,’ added Muzgu, working something out from between her teeth.

‘I believe you said Bolar would have the opportunity to read her own entrails.’

‘Something like that.’

The thought entered Vash’s head that maybe his companions were similarly out of place on this strange quest as he was, just plucked from radically different backgrounds. The reasoning of Malacath could not be analysed, of course, but it did make Vash wonder.

They passed through Riften in the evening. Although Vash knew many of the Thieves Guild from their appearance at the Battle of Helgen, and counted at least one as a close friend, he still felt uneasy in their city. Instead he suggested they spend the night further west, making the extra distance before the light faded, passing a few coins to a farmer to sleep in his barn.

In the morning they didn’t have far to go, just across a stone bridge that spanned a dry riverbed, and then off the road to the south. The stronghold of Largashbur came into view between the trees.

The gate was shut, and there was nobody on the watchtower. Vash hesitated, his fist raised to hammer on the gate. He was saved from indecision by Yanakh.

‘Hail, Largashbur!’ she called out, her sudden increase in volume startling Vash. ‘The agent of Malacath seeks entry!’

‘Fancy,’ said Muzgu. Yanakh flushed, looked away, and fell silent.

It was a few moments before someone appeared on the watchtower, an elderly female orc in black robes. She looked down at the newcomers, her tired face showing no surprise.

‘It really is you,’ she said, her voice a dry croak. ‘Give me a moment to open the gate.’

She trod slowly down from the watchtower and they heard her fumbling with a bar on the gate—more security than Narzulbur had used. Vash looked at his companions, who, by their expressions, had noticed the same thing.

‘My apologies,’ said the orc once she’d opened the gate. ‘We’ve had trouble with bandits, and the Thieves Guild too.’

‘A bar on the gate won’t stop the Guild,’ said Muzgu, as the trio trailed into the stronghold.

‘Evidently,’ said the orc. She introduced herself as Atub, the stronghold’s sorceress. The stronghold itself was built at the base of a great rocky cliff. Before them as they entered was a firepit, with the longhouse along the left side of the open space. Although the weather was more pleasant than Narzulbur, and autumn leaves covered much of the ground, there was silence in Largashbur then, silence that sent Vash’s nerves working, his fingers itching to cast some spell.

‘Where is everybody?’ asked Vash.

Atub crossed to a chair by the longhouse door and sat down, a sigh escaping her lips.

‘There are very few of us left, these days,’ she said. ‘Our blacksmith and her son were killed by bandits in the summer. That thief from the Guild took the last fine pieces of hers we had to sell.’ She gestured further back, where a hut containing a forge stood empty and cold, its door hung open carelessly, the leaves blowing across the floor.

‘How many are left?’ asked Yanakh. Muzgu had wandered over to where a rough shrine to Malacath sat behind the firepit, a stone slab that reminded Vash rather too much of a coffin. At the head of the slab was a thick stake with an antlered deer skull perched on top. The slab itself was bare of offerings but for scatterings of lavender.

‘Four, now,’ said Atub. ‘Two had gone to Narzulbur to work the mine. We had hoped for their return, but it never came.’ She looked back and forth between the guests, seemingly unsure of them which to address. ‘Did you come from there?’

‘Do you want to tell her, or shall I?’ asked Yanakh quietly.

Vash felt himself grow warmer. He looked at his boots and silently cursed himself. He had acted hastily, not thought to check how many orcs remained in Largashbur before saying that Gadba and Mul ought to be inducted fully into the Narzulbur tribe.

‘I have made a mistake,’ he said, forcing himself to meet Atub’s eyes.

‘They are not returning,’ said Atub. She shook her head. ‘You should not blame yourself. Others have tried to save us. We have tried ourselves, and paid with blood for our attempts. I think we have lost.’

‘No!’ blurted Vash. ‘I can still make things right.’ He looked at both Yanakh and Muzgu. ‘We can. I know people in the Guild, I can get your things back. And the bandits, we can take care of them.’

Atub sighed. ‘If you wish, we will be grateful,’ she said. ‘But I think it would be just delaying the end.’

Vash shook his head rapidly. ‘We can fix this,’ he said.

‘Let us take care of the bandits,’ said Yanakh. ‘You go see the Guild.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Vash. Yanakh wore her sword like she knew how to use it, and he was completely sure that Muzgu had more than a few deaths in her past, but still, he had never seen them in action.

Yanakh nodded. ‘We ran into some bandits on the way to Winterhold,’ she said. ‘They were—’

‘Pathetic,’ finished Muzgu, from where she was rearranging the lavender on the shrine. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’

That seemed to settle it. Atub said she would tell the chief, who had the name of Gularzob. She went inside the longhouse, not inviting them to join her. After a few minutes, the chief appeared. He was unusually young for a chief, dressed in simple furs, and he leaned on a great spiked warhammer, clutching it like he’d fall over without its support. Even Vash knew enough to recognise its provenance, though Muzgu spoke first.

‘That’s fucking Volendrung,’ she said.

‘Yes, it is,’ said Gularzob. He sat in the chair vacated by Atub, holding the hammer of Malacath like a staff beside him. He looked as tired as she had been. ‘Our previous chief, he was a coward. He and an outsider were sent to purify Malacath’s shrine, in the east. Only the outsider returned, with the giant’s club. When placed upon the antlers there’—he gestured to the skull atop the stake—‘it was transformed into this. Malacath said the outsider should take it, but she refused. Said that I was chief and should wield it.’ He looked around the stronghold. ‘See what good it has done me.’

‘An outsider?’ asked Yanakh.

Gularzob shrugged. ‘A human female,’ he said. ‘She looked like a Breton, but she did not speak like one. She did not give us her name.’

Vash started. He’d only met one person who fitted that description, one woman who had travelled across Skyrim helping everyone who needed it, one woman who would refuse such a legendary reward for the deeds she had done. He kept his mouth shut. Gularzob’s woes would not be eased by learning he owed his position as chief to the Dragonborn.

There was little else to say. Gularzob told them that the bandits seemed to be camped outside a dwarven ruin to the west. Yanakh and Muzgu went that way, and Vash retrod the route back to Riften.

His friend in the Guild, a khajiit named Dar’epha, had told him to knock at the outside door of Honeyside, if he ever needed to speak with her. Relieved at not having to enter the city again, he followed her instructions, watching a fisherman over at the docks struggling with his oars as he headed out to start the day’s work. Shortly, a redheaded Nord woman opened the door. She was missing one hand at the wrist, and some recognition showed in her face.

‘Iona, isn’t it?’ asked Vash. ‘You were at Helgen.’ As it came out of his mouth, he remembered that that was where she had lost the hand, somewhere in that furious battle against the Thalmor and the demons that spewed from the Oblivion gate they had opened. But before he could form an apology for reminding her of her loss, Iona had nodded, said she’d fetch Dar’epha, though it might be few minutes. Vash was saying it was no trouble at all when the door closed in his face. He sighed and leant on the railing, back to watching the fisherman.

The sun had noticeably moved across the sky before Dar’epha appeared. He didn’t hear the door open behind him; she was just suddenly there beside him at the railing. Her leather armour, mostly made of pockets, was of a darker hue than the last time he’d seen her.

‘Gods, Vash, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Fuckin everything happening at once, you know?’

Vash nodded. ‘What does the darker armour mean?’ he asked. ‘A promotion?’

Dar’epha groaned. ‘It’s all responsibility and no reward, I tell ya. The Flagon’s so crowded these days I can barely breathe down there. I keep Honeyside just for me and Iona and Sapphire. Somewhere where it’s quiet.’

‘Gylhain wouldn’t mind.’

‘Nah. Don’t think she ever stayed more than a couple nights in the place really.’ She suddenly straightened and slapped Vash on the back. ‘Oh! I read your book. I didn’t even steal a copy. My favourite bits were the bits with me in them.’

Vash cleared his throat. ‘Actually, that’s sort of why I’m here. I need to ask a favour.’

‘Writing a sequel and starved for material? I suppose we could open another gate, see what happens.’

‘I’m working for Malacath.’

‘Huh.’ Dar’epha fell silent.

‘I’m trying to help the strongholds,’ added Vash. He gestured westwards. ‘One of yours took some armour from Largashbur.’

‘You want me to add ’em to the no-steal list? Still keepin them out of Winterhold, have you noticed?’

‘I have. Thank you.’

‘I didn’t even know we’d hit Largashbur,’ said Dar’epha. ‘Not our kinda place, no offence. Ugh, too many new kids running around down there who don’t know the drill. I’ll stop it happening again. Can’t promise the armour’s still around, but if it is, I’ll see it gets back to them.’

‘Thank you,’ said Vash again. There was another pause, then Dar’epha exhaled loudly and laughed.

‘I work for Nocturnal, is the thing,’ she said. Vash raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s what happened to me, when I went through the gate in Helgen. I left that bit out, when I told you about it for your book.’

‘I didn’t tell you about Malacath,’ said Vash, ‘so I think that makes us even.’

‘It might make us both fuckin fools,’ said Dar’epha.

‘I don’t know. I think we knew what we were doing.’

‘Did we? I dunno, I got a tendency to just jump right in there without thinking.’

‘Did you get what you wanted from the bargain?’ asked Vash.

Dar’epha thought for a moment. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, I think I did. Got a bunch of unrelated problems though.’

‘That’s how it goes,’ said Vash. ‘As if running the College wasn’t enough.’

‘Huh, yeah. Did you, though? Get what you wanted from Malacath?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’

They leaned beside each other in easy silence for a time. A flock of birds flew over, their high-pitched cries echoing over the lake. Vash knew he ought to be getting back to Largashbur. He was worried about Yanakh and Muzgu dealing with the bandits on their own, worried about the future of the stronghold, worried about his decisions rippling out beyond his control.

‘Did you ever hear from Kara?’ asked Dar’epha.

Vash shook his head. ‘I wanted her piece of the story, for the book, but nobody knew where she was.’

‘She disappeared after Helgen. I made a few enquiries, but nothing.’

There had been five of them that had gone through the gate that had opened in Helgen, ending up in five different places. Gylhain, the Dragonborn, had not spoken of where she’d been, but whatever she’d done there had closed the gate. Antario, an ex-Thalmor agent, had journeyed to Boethiah’s realm. His full account was present in Vash’s book—although Vash had edited down some of the more flowery descriptions. These days Antario was an advisor to High Queen Elisif, and had overseen the full expulsion of the Thalmor from Skyrim that had followed the spreading news of the battle and who had been responsible for it.

The last had been Kara, a nord woman Gylhain had met somewhere on her journeys. Kara also hadn’t spoken of where she had been, apparently not even to Antario, who had been her closest friend. And in the chaos that had been the aftermath of the battle, helping the wounded down to Whiterun, she had disappeared.

‘Whoever she met, it might’ve made us look lucky,’ said Dar’epha. ‘Who’d ya reckon? Mephala? Vaermina?’

‘There are places in Oblivion we know nothing about,’ said Vash. ‘Uncharted realms. We might not have words for what she saw.’

‘Fuck, Vash.’

‘I think you’re right. We were lucky. If this is the cost, I can be okay with that. I can make myself be okay with that.’

‘That’s a nice little realisation,’ said Dar’epha. ‘But all your problems are still out there.’

He could almost see them, waiting for him. They said their farewells, and Dar’epha promised, as ever, to come by Winterhold next time she was up that way. Back on the road again, Vash moved with speed towards Largashbur, sure that disaster had struck in his absence. Instead he found Muzgu and Yanakh waiting outside the longhouse for him. Yanakh was cleaning blood off her sword, but the pair appeared otherwise unruffled.

‘Gave us the easy job, I reckon,’ said Muzgu. ‘Bandits round here, they’re just not up to scratch.’

‘How did it go?’ asked Vash, feeling out of breath. Perhaps hearing their voices, Chief Gularzob came out from the longhouse to join them. He leaned against the door, the great hammer still at his side.

‘We killed a few,’ said Yanakh. ‘The rest ran.’

‘Barely any sport in it,’ added Muzgu. ‘How was the Guild?’

Vash related what Dar’epha had told him. Gularzob thanked them briefly, then returned inside.

‘Think that’s as good a goodbye as we’re gonna get,’ said Muzgu.

‘Indeed,’ said Yanakh. She rose, sheathed her sword, and guided Vash out of the stronghold with her hand on his elbow. Vash was surprised, but allowed himself to be moved along. He could hear Muzgu following behind. ‘That was a good thing you did,’ Yanakh added. ‘But there’s a bigger problem.’

‘Place is fucked,’ came Muzgu’s voice.

Yanakh winced. ‘She’s right, unfortunately. Four orcs isn’t enough to sustain a stronghold. It’s only a matter of time before—’

‘Before what?’ said Vash. He remembered falling and choking in the Ashpit. He would have died, had he not fought for survival with everything that he had. ‘Before someone else tries to kick down their gates? There will always be something like that. They’re orcs. They’ll survive. It’s what we do.’

Muzgu laughed. ‘Boy’s got a spine after all!’ She swung in front of them, clapping a hand on Vash’s shoulder as she overtook. Already most of the way back to the main road, she spun and looked back at Vash and Yanakh. Muzgu raised her arms towards the sky. ‘We’re the saviours of orc-kind!’ She grinned at them. ‘All you need is a little faith.’


	4. Dushnikh Yal

It was a long and varied road to Dushnikh Yal. First up through the steep and narrow pass south of the Throat of the World, its great bulk made blurry through the falling snow. Then down, passing through Helgen, that ruined town where so much of Skyrim’s recent history found its birthplace. The three orcs were quiet as they trod through that place. Vash felt the past too fresh, bearing down on him too much to be able to speak. Muzgu and Yanakh sensed his mood, and did not break the silence.

They passed in and out of Falkreath, which the two foreigners had seen on their way into Skyrim. Vash warned them about the harsh terrain of the Reach which was to come, but in truth it always took him by surprise as well. The rich greenery faded, gave way to crags of rock and scraggly bushes. The rays of the sun itself seemed to weaken. The evening was drawing close, but Vash insisted he could get them to Dushnikh Yal before nightfall.

He led them on, frowning, examining the rocky slope by the side of the road for the particular gap in it he was looking for. Much of it seemed identical, and he hoped his memory still held.

‘You sure you know where you’re going?’ asked Muzgu, after a few minutes of this rather slow and halting method of travel.

‘I’ve been here before,’ said Vash, still peering at their surroundings. ‘Before Gylhain left, she gave me a map, marked with some ruins she’d found on her travels, places she thought I’d find interesting. I needed some time away after Helgen, so I picked one at random. It was up here.’

He stopped, pointing at a barely-there path that coiled up the mountain side. The others looked at him sceptically, but he forged ahead and they followed.

‘Arkngthamz,’ he said. ‘Amazing place. I didn’t even know the stronghold was up here until I pretty much walked right into it.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t tell them that, though.’

‘I was hoping being Archmage required you to have some brains,’ said Muzgu.

Vash smiled. Further up, another path branched off to the right. Looking down it, they could see great stone arches, carved in a style that usually signified a Nordic ruin somewhere nearby. Vash led them straight on, however, up the path to where a tower of an altogether different style loomed above them and to the right.

‘Is that it?’ asked Yanakh. ‘Looks likes Dwemer work.’

‘No, that’s—I don’t know what that is,’ said Vash. ‘I had a look inside, but it doesn’t connect to anything underground. Not that I could tell, anyway. Good view from the top, is about all.’ He remembered that huge vista of the Reach and beyond, back onto the plains of Whiterun.

They came abreast of the Dwemer tower and the path flattened out. Vash continued his story.

‘I ended up staying there,’ he said. ‘In Dushnikh Yal, I mean. It turns out Gylhain used it as a base when she was clearing out the Forsworn in the Reach. The chief and his brother and I swapped stories about her late into the night.’ He had been almost sorry to leave the stronghold the following morning, and had wished for the companionship of Chief Burguk during the exploration of Arkngthamz. It was unlikely, he thought, that the orc chief would have appreciated Vash’s ramblings on the wonders of Dwemer architecture, but talking to the walls never brought any joy.

‘What kind of place is it?’ asked Yanakh.

‘On a scale of prosperity,’ said Muzgu, ‘Narzulbur being, let’s say, a nine, and Largashbur being a zero, where does Dushnikh Yal fit?’

Vash’s stomach twisted at the mention of the failures he’d left behind him. He had been trying to keep them from his mind. Still, he had learned enough by now to know it was easier to play along with Muzgu than to try and stand firm and serious. Her and Dar’epha would get along, he thought.

‘Eight,’ was what he came up with. ‘They have a deep orichalcum mine. I think they sell it in Markarth, mostly.’

‘Largashbur’s downfall,’ said Yanakh thoughtfully. ‘They did not build upon a mine.’

‘No scheming poisonous crones to watch out for?’ asked Muzgu.

‘Muzgu,’ said Yanakh.

‘Were they not. Were they not exactly that though.’

‘You’ll be a crone someday.’

‘Please,’ said Muzgu. ‘That’ll never happen.’

Vash watched this, trying not to smile, as the stronghold came into sight ahead of them.

‘No,’ he said, remembering Muzgu’s question. ‘No aunt problems.’ He struggled to remember. He’d been so surprised to discover a fellow mutual friend of the Dragonborn that he hadn’t paid as much attention as he perhaps ought to have. ‘I think there might be something with the wives. We’ll see.’

Muzgu grunted. ‘At least he’s got some.’

They hailed the orc in the watchtower, who called for the gate to be opened. Once inside, Vash was greeted with familiarity by Chief Burguk, and all the guests were invited to dinner. It was held outside, around the firepit before the longhouse, under the stars. The orcs stood and sat in a loose group, some on chairs and some sprawling on the dirt, biting into the meat that made up the bulk of their meal, always talking and shoving and yelling at each other, a constant jostle, any contest that could add to their strength.

Burguk insisted upon hearing the story of Vash’s travels to the Ashpit. But remembering the strange tensions he had noted between the chief’s wives on his last visit, he kept moving his gaze around all the other orcs as he told his tale, noticing those who sat comfortably with others, and those who didn’t.

Muzgu and Yanakh were moving amongst the stronghold occupants, no doubt making their own enquiries. But even to Vash’s unexperienced eye, it became increasingly clear that while the chief’s first two wives, Arob and Gharol, contributed greatly to the stronghold, it was the third, youngest, and prettiest wife, Shel, who received all the chief’s favour. She had a place beside the chief, the choicest cuts of meat, and looked as if she had never done a day’s work in her life.

When the feast wound down, Gharol, the forge-wife, made up bedrolls for the guests by the forge. It wasn’t as cruelly cold as some nights could get in the Reach, but the residual warmth of the forge kept would buffer them from the worst of it. As she was about to leave them, Yanakh held out a hand to delay her and asked a question which confirmed to Vash that she had noticed the same dynamic he had.

‘Gharol, does Shel contribute to the stronghold at all?’

Gharol scoffed. ‘She does nothing. I slave all day over the forge, and Arob brings in most of our meat. We sell the excess in Markarth. She brought down the deer we ate tonight.’

Yanakh nodded with respect. ‘A fine kill.’

‘But Shel.’ Gharol paused to spit in the dirt. ‘She does nothing but cling to Burguk’s side and preen herself. I have tried to get her to do something, but he always steps in to protect her. She is a disgrace to the stronghold.’ She looked between the three of them. ‘Will you speak of this to Burguk?’

‘Course not,’ said Muzgu. Vash and Yanakh murmured assent.

Gharol looked back down towards the longhouse, where the last of the orcs were retiring for the night. Satisfied they were out of hearing, she continued.

‘Shel leaves the stronghold most nights. We do not know where she goes.’

‘How long has this been happening?’ asked Yanakh.

‘A few weeks,’ said Gharol. ‘Arob and I have been unable to agree what action to take.’

‘Leave it with us,’ said Vash. ‘This sort of problem is why we’re here.’

Gharol looked over the trio again. ‘Very well,’ she said.

After she had left them, Vash stood with his hands folded behind his back and considered their options. Yanakh was leaning against the edge of the still-warm forge, while Muzgu sat crosslegged on her bedroll.

‘I guess I can’t argue for killing her,’ said Muzgu, ‘after everything I said about the aunts.’

‘Indeed,’ said Vash.

‘You’d be even more of a hypocrite than usual,’ said Yanakh.

‘How warm are those coals?’ asked Muzgu. ‘Reckon you want to have a lie down in there, see how you feel? Maybe we could hammer you into something useful, like an axe.’

Before they could get any further, Vash interrupted. ‘Muzgu, you said you were in the Thieves Guild.’

‘Yeah, what of it?’

‘Then you can be silent.’

‘If I’ve a mind to.’

‘You should follow Shel tonight,’ said Vash. ‘See where she goes. Don’t get seen.’

‘Do some nosing. Yeah, alright.’ She stood up and pulled her cloak tight around her. ‘I’ll wait outside for her to come out. Don’t get too cosy while I’m gone.’

Then she was away, down in front of the longhouse and out through the gate into the dark. Vash watched her go, then turned back to where Yanakh hadn’t moved from her spot by the forge. He tried to think of something to say, realising he hadn’t been alone with her before.

‘Have you and Muzgu known each other long?’ he asked.

‘A couple of months,’ said Yanakh, folding her arms.

Vash thought at first he’d made some error, and was fishing around for another topic, before Yanakh spoke again.

‘Malacath told me to meet her in Anvil, down in Cyrodiil.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘He neglected to mention that she would be late. And that she’d have a good deal of Imperial Guard on her tail. “A little murder” was what she said. I never got a straight answer out of her about that.’

‘I doubt she’ll ever give one,’ said Vash.

‘Perhaps. It took us a long time to get north and over the border. Two orcs travelling together is a distinctive description. We spent a lot of time together.’ Yanakh scratched at her scalp. ‘I suppose we could have split up. The idea never occurred to us. I guess we know each other pretty well, because of all that time.’

‘I didn’t know what to expect, when Malacath said he would send assistance,’ said Vash.

‘Neither did we,’ said Yanakh. ‘An orc mage? It didn’t make a lot of sense. Then when we were in Bruma, about to cross the border, we saw a book with your name on the cover. I read it in the back of the carriage over the mountains.’ She looked away. ‘You have interesting friends.’

This time Vash knew exactly what to say. He’d always wanted people to feel welcome at the College, in Winterhold itself, so he was practiced at opening the doors wide, so to speak. He was thankful for those years of practice now.

‘Always room for a couple more,’ he said.

Yanakh smiled at him. Then she coughed, and looked away again.

‘We should get some rest,’ she said. ‘Muzgu could be gone for hours.’

As it happened, Muzgu did not return until dawn, shaking Vash and Yanakh awake. She grinned at them as they groaned and made it upright, seeming no worse herself for her lack of sleep.

‘Who wants to hear what I found out?’ she said. She rubbed her hands together. ‘It’s nice and juicy.’

‘Just tell us, please,’ said Yanakh.

‘So everything’s nice and quiet in the stronghold,’ began Muzgu. ‘Then out comes Shel, being very sneaky. Not as sneaky as me, of course, but not bad for an amateur. She goes west, and I follow. There’s a big ruin out that way. Skyrim seems to be real big on ruins. Anyway, there’s a bandit camp there, lots of campfires about, general sense of drunkenness. Shel wanders right in, starts exchanging spit with a man who looks like the top bandit around. They retired to a tent very quickly. They were in there for a long time.’ She looked at Vash and Yanakh. ‘I got closer. Would you like to know what they were doing in there?’

‘I think we get the idea,’ said Vash, sighing. For all Burguk’s faults, Vash liked him. He didn’t want to have to be the one to bring this sort of news home.

‘You’re no fun,’ said Muzgu. ‘Then before first light, she heads on back, sneaks into the longhouse as the sun’s tickling the horizon. Masterful little operation she’s got.’

‘We have to tell Burguk,’ said Vash.

‘We told Gharol that we wouldn’t,’ said Yanakh.

‘We can keep her out of it. Say we came by the knowledge ourselves.’

‘Or we could just let it happen,’ said Muzgu. ‘Burguk will work it out eventually. Shel’s not smart enough to keep this all up for long.’

‘What is she thinking?’ asked Yanakh, looking out over the Reach. ‘She has everything she wants here. Burguk dotes on her.’

‘Enough is never enough,’ said Muzgu, shrugging.

‘I’ll tell Burguk,’ said Vash. He just hoped it could be handled discreetly.

It could not. Although Vash took Burguk aside and explained the situation as delicately as he was able, as soon as the details were clear, Burguk summoned the entire stronghold to witness as he dragged Shel by her hair from the longhouse and threw her out of the gate.

‘You care for this bandit so much,’ he roared, ‘then go to him! There will be no place in my bed, or in my stronghold, or in any stronghold, for you. From this moment, you are exiled.’

He slammed the gate closed. As Burguk walked back towards the longhouse, all those present could hear Shel’s sobs and pleas, her fist hammering on the gate. It was just a few seconds before the pleas turned to curses, then faded altogether. But there was a smile on Burguk’s face as he approached his three guests. He grasped all their wrists in turn.

‘I must thank you for this,’ he said. ‘I was blinded.’ He glanced back towards the closed gate. ‘Now I see her for what she really is. The three of you are welcome at my feast whenever you wish.’

They lingered for a bit, but although the mood in the stronghold was approaching jubilant—Burguk’s other wives were doing very poorly at hiding grins—there was a bad taste in Vash’s mouth. The trio didn’t speak until they’d returned to the main road.

‘We gonna argue about whether that was the right thing to do?’ asked Muzgu.

‘No,’ said Vash. ‘Let’s just keep moving.’


	5. Mor Khazgur

The travellers made their way to Markarth. As they approached the city of stone, Vash told Muzgu and Yanakh about his potential candidate for a forge-wife for Mauhulakh: Ghorza, who was the city’s resident blacksmith. They agreed in principle, though Muzgu’s frown deepened the closer they got to Markarth.

‘Why would anybody build something so gods-damned bleak?’ she asked.

‘At least some of it’s Dwemer,’ said Vash. He’d never spent long enough in the city to conduct a full examination of where the Dwemer construction ended and the Nord work began. With its narrow staircases, its history of violent conspiracy, and every surface the same dull grey stone, Markarth had always felt to him like a trap. Officially, they were past the age of the Forsworn. Gylhain had infiltrated their inner command, helped them escape prison, then slaughtered them once they thought they were safe. Then she’d spent months acting as a plague upon their kind. It was understood the Reach was free of them. But in the streets of Markarth, anybody could be a sympathiser.

Vash led them quickly down the path to the left of the main doors, then up a narrow stairway to where Ghorza and her apprentice Tacitus kept the forge. Ghorza was leaning on a ledge, watching Tacitus hammer out a shield.

‘Archmage,’ she said as the newcomers approached. ‘Back to sweeten the deal? A legion of apprentices at my command? A magical forge that never goes cold?’

‘Actually,’ said Vash, ‘I have a different offer, if you’ll hear me out.’

‘I’ll listen,’ said Ghorza. ‘That’s about all I can promise.’

‘We’re Malacath’s agents in Skyrim. We’re looking for wives for Chief Mauhulakh, out at Narzulbur.’

Ghorza’s eyebrows went up, then she laughed. ‘Playing matchmaker for that milk-drinker? Bit of a comedown in the world, Archmage.’ She paused, and frowned. ‘And you’re asking me? Been a long time since I lived in a stronghold.’

‘That’s why we need you,’ said Vash. ‘Fresh blood, in a way.’

‘My blood ain’t that fresh,’ said Ghorza. She looked at the floor, her frown deepening. Nearby, Tacitus had paused in his work to listen. Without looking up, Ghorza added, ‘That shield decided to hammer itself, Tacitus?’ The hammering resumed.

Yanakh was wandering about the smithy, examining the pieces. ‘Narzulbur has a steady supply of ebony,’ she said, almost off-hand.

‘I had heard that,’ admitted Ghorza. ‘It’s not often a smith gets a chance to work with ebony. I had also heard that Mauhulakh’s wives die.’

‘We took care of that,’ said Muzgu.

‘And you’re stronger than they were,’ added Vash.

‘They say flattery will get you nowhere,’ said Ghorza. ‘This is not true.’ She sighed. ‘The more years I spend in this city, the wearier I get of it. And Tacitus is… competent.’

‘Thank you, O wise blacksmithing one,’ said Tacitus inbetween hammer strokes. Muzgu snorted.

‘You have improved,’ said Ghorza. ‘You have improved a great deal since you first came to my forge. I was harsh with you because I wanted you to be better.’

Tacitus briefly turned from his work to look at her, a smile edging onto his face. ‘I stayed, didn’t I?’ he said. Then he resumed hammering the shield.

Ghorza was silent for a minute. Vash wasn’t quite sure where to look. Some part of him had always expected her to reject his offer outright, as she had with his previous one.

‘I don’t want to die in Markarth,’ said Ghorza. ‘It’s a bad place for it.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this. My younger self would hate me.’

‘My younger self just laughs at me a lot,’ said Muzgu.

‘I’ll need a day, maybe two, to sort things out here.’

‘I can stay,’ said Yanakh. ‘Make sure you get to Narzulbur in one piece.’

Vash’s first inclination was to object, on purely selfish grounds. He wasn’t sure he could handle Muzgu’s mockery and more destructive tendencies on his own. But it was a good plan. It wouldn’t do to have Mauhulakh’s promised wife torn apart by bears on her way to her new home. So Yanakh remained in Markarth, while Muzgu and Vash continued on.

As soon as they were past the exterior buildings of Markarth, on the road north, Muzgu asked, ‘So did you and Yanakh fuck while I was out spying on Shel?’

Vash spluttered for a bit before saying, ‘We did not.’

‘Huh, I dunno what her deal is then,’ said Muzgu.

‘You’re—you find her attractive?’

Muzgu shrugged. ‘She’s tall. I’m a simple orc. Tried it on down in Cyrodiil, without my usual success.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Vash.

‘Figured she was only interested the male of the species,’ she added, grinning at him. ‘But maybe you’re uniquely repulsive.’

‘Further studies are needed, clearly,’ said Vash, laying the sarcasm on thick.

‘Clearly,’ echoed Muzgu.

Things continued in a similar vein as they walked on, Muzgu concocting plans involving the theoretical strapping young Nords of Winterhold. At first Vash tried to tune her out, but soon found he was laughing despite himself.

Near the small town of Karthwasten, however, he was forced to stop and examine his map. There was no clear road from the south to Mor Khazgur. Nothing large enough to be marked on his map, anyway. A vague path heading off near the town seemed to head in the right direction, so he took it. Very quickly they were off the path entirely.

‘I’m sure we’re on the right track,’ said Vash.

‘There is no track,’ said Muzgu. ‘We’re going fucking overland. This cannot be the way.’

‘We’ll get there just fine, I’m sure.’

‘We definitely won’t now that you’ve said that.’

In the end, all the jaunt overland cost them was thick mud on their boots and some scratches from the spiny bushes that still dotted the Reach, even that far north. Mor Khazgur appeared ahead of them, the gate around to the north-eastern side.

‘What’s this?’ asked Muzgu, gesturing to the east as they stood waiting to be granted entrance. ‘Could it be a gods-damned path?’

‘So we might have taken the wrong route,’ said Vash.

‘Oh I think your mistakes go back a bit further than that. In fact, I’d like to have a word with your mother.’

They were welcomed into the stronghold, and invited to drink with Chief Larak, a well-muscled orc who went about without a shirt or other covering over his chest.

‘If only Yanakh were here,’ murmured Muzgu, and Vash elbowed her.

After the pleasantries were gotten through, Vash brought the conversation around to the business at hand. Larak insisted there were no pressing issues in the stronghold that required the assistance of the agents of Malacath. The place was prosperous, thanks to a rich orichalcum mine, and secure, built up against the solid face of a mountain. Vash then brought up the concern of Mauhulakh and his search for wives.

‘I will not send one of my stronghold to that orc,’ said Larak. ‘How a chief who cannot keep his wives alive manages to run a stronghold does not make sense to me. Either he is cursed, or he is weak. Neither fill me with hope.’

‘It was his aunts,’ said Muzgu. ‘We dealt with that. We found him one wife already, a strong one who will not bend to their will. Another of such strength would ensure his success.’

Larak narrowed his eyes. ‘I do not doubt you believe this,’ he said.

‘But you still doubt Mauhulakh,’ said Vash. Larak nodded. It came to Vash in a flash what he ought to do. ‘Then I say this. If the measures we have put in place fail, and harm still comes to your kin, I will be responsible. You can extract your blood price from me.’

He snuck a glance at Muzgu, but she was silent, her expression unmoving. Larak, however, leaned back in his chair. He finished his drink, then nodded.

‘That’s good enough for me,’ he said. He rose from his chair and called out, ‘Borgakh!’ Soon a younger female orc approached, dressed in full orcish armour and with a sword of the same make at her hip.

‘Yes, father?’ she said.

‘It is decided that you shall marry Chief Mauhulakh, at Narzulbur,’ said Larak. ‘I know you will not disappoint me in this.’

There was a long silence. Vash shifted in his chair, wondering whether he ought to get up, or to say something. He looked at Muzgu, who seemed very interested in the bottom of her tankard.

At last, Borgakh said, ‘Yes, father.’

Very quickly it seemed to Vash they were out of Mor Khazgur and on the road again, this time accompanied by Borgakh, a companion who maintained her silence until the path east narrowed between two cliffs of rock.

‘The bandits are fond of ambushing here,’ she said quietly. She drew her sword and angled her steel shield to block her body. Vash prepared an ice spear in one hand and a ward in the other. Muzgu had a dagger in one hand, and Vash could see her other hand was clutching something as well, but her cloak prevented him from seeing what it was.

They edged through the pass. Nobody leapt from behind a crag to assail them with a blunt axe and demand their gold. Spells were dismissed and weapons put away.

‘Can’t be too careful,’ said Vash.

‘You definitely can,’ said Muzgu.

Borgakh fell silent again, and they walked on. After the pass, the way opened out into a wide valley ringed by mountains, the peaks shielding the cradle from the worst of the weather. Borgakh directed them north, where a road coiled in and out of the valley. Once back on its more even surface, they made easy time east, then a short detour south, coming out on the main road that Vash recognised as being just north of the town of Dragon Bridge. There they found a carriage to take them across Skyrim.

Sitting in the back as they rumbled over the long road eastwards, Vash felt he had to say something to Borgakh. He was going over the possibilities in his head when Muzgu got there before him.

‘This isn’t what you wanted,’ she said.

Borgakh paused for a moment before answering. ‘Does that matter? This is how it is.’

‘Course it matters,’ said Muzgu. ‘Mauhulakh can manage with one wife if he has to. Many have.’

‘But it has been decided,’ said Borgakh. ‘I do not know how his other wives died, but I do not think such a thing will befall me.’

‘I promised to pay blood price to your father if anything happens to you,’ said Vash.

Borgakh flinched. She looked at him with surprise, and another emotion that he couldn’t read. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’ she asked.

The strength of her gaze forced Vash’s to look away. ‘I’m the agent of Malacath,’ he managed to get out. ‘You’re—all orcs in Skyrim are my responsibility.’

‘I can handle myself,’ said Borgakh.

‘I—I’m sure you can,’ said Vash. He noticed Muzgu was grinning at him. ‘It seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t know that this wasn’t what you wanted. I didn’t know who your father would pick, everything happened so fast.’

‘He’s not my birth-father,’ said Borgakh. There was a pause. ‘He took me in when I was small. He has been kind, but he has long ceased trying to understand me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Vash. ‘I can try and find someone else. There are plenty of orcs in Skyrim, even outside the strongholds, I’m sure someone would want to—’

‘No,’ said Borgakh. Her gaze softened and it was easier for Vash to look into her dark eyes. ‘Thank you, but no. The deal has been made. I will fulfil it to the best of my ability.’

The rest of the journey passed in an easier silence, or in talking of less serious things. Borgakh, it turned out, was yet another person who had known Gylhain. They had briefly fought together, clearing out some bandit hideouts and ruins near Mor Khazgur. Borgakh had been in awe of the Dragonborn’s combat prowess, but had found being in her actual company to be less than ideal.

‘She seemed to have a death wish,’ said Borgakh. ‘And the ruins… narrow corridors beneath the dirt.’ She shook her head. ‘I prefer the open sky above me.’

Eventually the road to Winterhold branched off, and Vash alighted from the carriage, the other two continuing on, the driver willing to carry them as far as Kynesgrove. Vash wished them well, though his mood was dampened by the resigned expression on Borgakh’s face and the concerned one on Muzgu’s, the latter clearly restrained from speaking by the presence of the former.

As the carriage rattled away, Vash turned his weary steps northwards. The snow crunched under his boots, and if he wasn’t mistaken, more was about to start falling. He quickened his pace, hoping he could be back in time for a quick supper with Tolfdir, to catch up on all the College goings-on that had happened in his absence.

He smiled as he saw the lights of Winterhold appear in the distance. The trip around to the strongholds hadn’t gone as badly as he expected. At certain points he had even felt comfortable in those spaces, competent in his role. But it hadn’t destroyed the feeling he always got at this precise moment, as he saw the little town and the towers of the College beyond. Home, he thought.


	6. Growing Pains

A couple of days later, Muzgu and Yanakh returned to Winterhold, accompanied by a newcomer: Dushnamub, who had left the forge at Narzulbur in the capable hands of Ghorza and had come to the new forge he had been promised. While he was scoping out the building, largely built and ready for him, the others took the chance to speak with Vash, huddled out by the new unlit forge, wooden panels protecting them from the wind.

‘No trouble getting to Narzulbur?’ asked Vash, noticing the concern on their faces.

‘No,’ said Yanakh.

‘That’s not the problem,’ said Muzgu. ‘Borgakh won’t stay.’

‘She said something?’ asked Vash.

‘She didn’t have to,’ said Yanakh.

‘I’ve seen some miserable marriage ceremonies,’ said Muzgu, ‘but the look on her face was right up there with the best. Mauhulakh was grinning from ear to ear, though.’

‘She’ll just have to adjust,’ said Vash, waving it away with a gesture. ‘I remember arriving here for the first time.’ Years ago now, those early days in Winterhold came into his mind. But in truth, although he’d been uncertain about being surrounded by so many Nords, he had never had any doubts about the College itself being the place for him. He cast around for a different and more appropriate example and came up short.

Yanakh and Muzgu were silent, but he could tell they disapproved. He folded his arms and felt as if they were drawing away from him.

‘What should we do while you’re here?’ asked Yanakh.

‘Doing your wizardly things,’ added Muzgu.

‘I don’t know,’ said Vash. ‘You’re welcome in Winterhold, of course—’

‘Balls to that,’ said Muzgu. ‘No offence.’

‘I’d rather be doing something,’ said Yanakh. She looked away. ‘It bothers me that the strongholds here are all made of wood. One fire out of control and the whole place would be destroyed.’

‘What, you want to use stone?’ asked Muzgu. ‘That’d be a huge pain in the arse.’

‘Worthwhile, though,’ said Vash. He pointed towards The Frozen Hearth, Winterhold’s inn. ‘You could talk to Astene. She took over the mine outside of town. She might be able to help.’

‘For a price,’ said Muzgu.

‘I suspected as much,’ said Yanakh. ‘I only have a small amount of gold.’

‘Fortunately, I’m here,’ said Muzgu.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Vash.

‘We need gold. I’m guessing you won’t be on board with embezzling College funds, so I’ve got an alternative.’ Muzgu sighed. ‘I hate this sentence, but I’m going to need you to write me a letter of introduction. You said you’ve got friends in the Guild.’

‘And you’ve got the talents to make gold for them,’ said Vash.

‘See, you’re not totally dense.’ She looked at Yanakh. ‘I told you he wasn’t totally dense.’

‘I have my moments,’ said Vash. He didn’t think there would be any problem with the Thieves Guild taking on Muzgu, though he was well aware at this point that it was him that owed Dar’epha several favours, rather than the other way around.

And so the arrangements were made. Vash introduced Yanakh to Astene, and wrote a short letter for Muzgu. Before the following day was over, both of them had gone from Winterhold. Vash lingered by the new forge, busying himself with the numerous smaller tasks surrounding the setup that never seemed to end. After a couple of days of this, however, Dushnamub wondered aloud whether there was any pressing College business for the Archmage to attend to. Vash took the hint, and returned across the bridge to the towers he called home.

The days turned into weeks. Vash helped with the training of his students and the projects of his fellow mages. He was particularly impressed with the progress of his newest student, Emelia, who he became convinced was holding some knowledge or experience back during their lessons. There was no way to bring this up, however, as any attempt at a personal question caused her face to go blank and her tone to go cold in a way that made his heart kick with a brief burst of fear. But she gave him no real cause for alarm, and indeed the other mages seemed to welcome her presence.

Sometimes Yanakh would come by and update him on her progress securing supplies of stone for the strongholds. Proceedings were underway at Narzulbur to haul the stone up to the stronghold, and she was in negotiations for similar work for Mor Khazgur, though the remote locations of all the strongholds was driving the prices higher. Muzgu, though, did not come by. Yanakh brought word that she had been accepted into the Guild and was running jobs for them, but beyond that, there was no news of her.

Late one evening, however, Vash received two unexpected visitors. It was Emelia who came up to the Arcanaeum to bring him the announcement of the arrival, as she often kept more nocturnal hours.

‘The Dawnguard, they called themselves,’ she said. ‘Two of them. Those vampire hunters we keep hearing about.’

‘I don’t know what they could want here,’ said Vash. ‘Thank you, I’ll meet them downstairs.’

When Vash reached the Hall of the Elements, the two visitors were in the cavernous space usually reserving for lessons and practice. One was tall, dressed in the heavy grey armour of the Dawnguard, with a helmet that fully covered her face. The hilt of a large ebony greatsword poked above her shoulder, and the sight of it nudged something in Vash’s memory. The other visitor was a woman with dark hair and piercing yellow eyes, wearing red and black armour with a cloak, all of a design that Vash had never seen before. It looked ancient, but in good condition.

The taller figure was standing very still, their arms folded, while the shorter woman was drifting about the room, looking up at the great ceiling high above them.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Vash, as he approached them. ‘We’re not used to visitors at such an hour. I’m the Archmage.’

‘An orc,’ said the woman. ‘Times are changing.’

‘So they keep telling me,’ said Vash. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Oh, we need to borrow your elder scroll.’

Vash thought it was to his credit that he kept his face very still. Not even his eyebrows went up. ‘And what makes you believe we even have such a thing?’ he asked, his voice even. He was the Archmage, he told himself. This kind of thing was part of his duty.

‘Vash,’ said the taller figure, in a voice he recognised. She took off her helmet to reveal herself as Kara, who had journeyed with him, and the Dragonborn, and others, as they had sought to discover the Thalmor’s sinister plot. Then they had fought alongside each other as the Thalmor opened an Oblivion gate in the ruins of Helgen. Kara had gone through the gate and returned, but not spoken of where she had been. Nobody had seen her since.

But she was not quite the same Kara he had once known. Her pale blonde hair was cut very short, and a great burn marked the left side of her scalp, splattering down that same side of her face. Her left ear was almost gone entirely. But the worst was the look in her eyes. Sunk deep with tiredness, and hard, whatever life that had been there before now turned to stone.

‘Kara, gods, what happened to you?’ managed Vash.

Kara ran her gauntleted hand lightly over her burn marks. ‘Dragon,’ she said. ‘And other things. It’s a long story. I joined the Dawnguard.’ She frowned. ‘Obviously.’

‘I’m Serana, by the way,’ said the other woman. ‘Do you really use all this space? I mean, vertically?’

‘We stopped teaching levitation before my time here,’ said Vash. ‘Apparently there were some accidents. But one of my colleagues is fond of hurling fireballs as high as he can.’

‘Scares the locals if he does it outside, huh?’ said Serana.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Vash, ‘you said you wanted to borrow the elder scroll?’

‘So you do have one,’ said Serana.

‘I thought you would,’ said Kara. ‘Gylhain said she found one. I don’t know where else she would have brought it, when she was done with it.’

Vash was silent. Before Kara had taken off her helmet, he had been preparing to show them the door. Politely, but firmly. Now he wasn’t sure what to do. Either way, the secret was out.

‘I was just a student,’ he said. ‘I didn’t even know she’d brought it here until I became Archmage.’

‘We need it to save the world,’ said Serana.

‘The world would carry on if we failed,’ said Kara, looking at the floor.

‘It would be truly awful, though.’ Serana looked at Vash. ‘Also, we’ll bring it back with two more.’

This time Vash could not keep the surprise off his face. ‘You have two more elder scrolls?’

‘Well, we have one,’ said Serana. ‘And we think we know where another one is.’

It was a shame it was best for the location of the scrolls to be kept secret, thought Vash; having three would be a great boon to the College’s reputation. It was possible so many hadn’t been in the same place for decades.

‘Saving the world, you said.’

‘Again,’ said Kara, almost smiling.

‘When you’re done,’ said Vash, ‘I’d like to hear the tale. You’re always welcome here.’

Kara wouldn’t meet his eyes after that. Vash thought about how steadfastly Urag, the previous librarian, would have objected to what he was about to do. But the current librarian, Onmund, would be asleep at this hour, over in the Hall of Countenance. So there was nobody to stop Vash treading upstairs, opening the secret compartment that contained the scroll, and bringing it down. He handed it over and it was Serana who took it, like she knew how heavy it would be.

After Kara and Serana had gone, Vash heard a shuffling from behind one of the columns in the hall.

‘If you combine your invisibility with a good muffle spell,’ he said, ‘I won’t be able to hear you, either.’

There was the swish of a spell being dismissed, and Emelia stepped out from behind a column. She frowned at him. ‘You’re not angry with me,’ she observed.

Vash shrugged. ‘It wasn’t a secret conference,’ he said. ‘And I’m fairly sure by now that you’re not a Thalmor spy.’

‘Thanks,’ said Emelia. She pointed after the departing Dawnguard. ‘Did you happen to notice that pretty little thing is a vampire?’

‘I did.’

‘And? You let them run out of here with one of the most valuable things in Mundus!’

‘I trust Kara,’ said Vash.

‘There’s something wrong with her too,’ said Emelia. ‘I can’t tell what. But I hope you’re right, for all our sakes.’

‘The College lasted a long time without any elder scrolls, I’m sure we could do so again.’ Still, Vash found himself sighing. ‘But so do I.’

Only time would tell, he knew. He had thought there would be more of it, somehow, before his responsibilities as agent of Malacath rose in front of him again. He had hoped, very quietly, that since he’d done the initial work, the rest would more or less take care of itself. In his defence, months had slid past with no great upheavals or disasters. The year of 4E 209 was drawing towards its end. But Malacath, it seemed, didn’t want him to end the year quietly.

The first sign was Dar’epha storming into Winterhold, right into Vash’s quarters. He didn’t bother asking how she’d gotten past the outer gate. She strode into the middle of his room and shook the snow from her fur all over his floor. He was still frowning in surprise at her sudden appearance when she started talking.

‘Fucking Muzgu,’ she said. ‘Gods, Vash, you owe me big-time for this one.’

‘Ah,’ said Vash. ‘She said she had prior experience.’

‘Oh she’s a real natural, no doubt about that,’ said Dar’epha. ‘She can make a lot of us professional-type thieves sit up straight. But what she can’t seem to get into her head is rule number fucking one.’

Vash frowned again, trying to remember how the Guild governed itself.

‘Is that the one about not—’

‘About not killing people on jobs, yeah.’ Dar’epha sighed and sat down, turning the chair around to sit in it with her legs astride, her arms leaning on the back. ‘The running around I’ve had to do. Murders are so messy. The bribes, Vash, you wouldn’t believe the bribes I’ve had to pay.’

‘I haven’t seen her in a while,’ said Vash.

‘Thought that might be the case. If you see her, tell her we need to have some words, preferably accompanied by handing over large amounts of gold.’

‘I’ll tell her. And I’m sorry.’

Dar’epha shrugged. ‘S’not your fault,’ she said. She seemed more tired than Vash had ever seen her. She heaved herself upright. ‘Course, I am keepin track of just how many favours you owe me.’

‘I suspected as much,’ said Vash.

It was then that Yanakh charged into the room, almost bowling over Dar’epha, who was on her way out. Seeing the clear urgency in Yanakh’s arrival, Dar’epha gave a quick wave and was gone. Yanakh was bent double, breathing heavily.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Vash. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Bandits,’ said Yanakh. ‘Bandits laying siege to Dushnikh Yal.’

‘What?’ said Vash. ‘How?’

‘Shel. She tried to come back, repentant. Chief Burguk refused. So she went to her bandit boyfriend and told him all the weak spots. Now the orcs are pinned down in the longhouse.’

Vash thought for a moment, pushing past the initial shame that came into his cheeks.

‘Was the carriage here when you came up?’ he asked. Yanakh nodded. ‘Let’s go then.’

Together they took the stairs down two at a time, racing out to meet Markus, who ran the carriage for Winterhold. More and more questions filled Vash’s head as they went, mostly about his own decisions, whether there was something else he could have done, if there was a way this all could have been avoided. When they were in the back of the carriage, heading south, he asked something more practical.

‘Why haven’t they burned the orcs out?’

‘The bandit chief wants the place for himself. I got close enough to eavesdrop, but there were too many for me to handle on my own.’

‘You did the right thing,’ said Vash. ‘Do you know where Muzgu is?’

‘No,’ said Yanakh. ‘What are we going to do?’

Vash looked at her with surprise. ‘You haven’t seen me fight,’ he realised. ‘How many bandits are there?’

‘A dozen, maybe more. Those aren’t good odds, even for a mage.’

‘Fortunately,’ said Vash, ‘I’m not just any old mage.’


End file.
